I was laughing so hard-

“Before we leave Doctor Ben Carson in the sands of Giza, looking for the Pancake Mix of the Gods…”

I might have to knit this, just for the full name: “Bias Stripe Scarf in Flax and Universe.”

Bias Stripe, of course, is the kick-ass blonde navy seal type. Scarf? Don’t know.

Flax and Universe sounds like something from a not-quite Ursula LeGuin novel- not horrible tripe, but not something you’ll remember forever. Or is Flax and Universe an intersection, possibly in a Neil Gaiman story? Flax, at least the ornamental stuff I used to grow, was a beautiful blue – plant it with white cosmos to make a star field?

Maybe the whole thing is the name of a fashion shoot – where the photographer unwittingly records evidence of the disposal of the body of the last person to know the real story behind the assassination of ??? A fashion shoot for Mode O’ Day, maybe. Are they still around? Or Sears. Sears fashion shoot. Grim.

This is possibly why I find it hard to pay attention, sometimes. It is also an explanation of why I dropped out of college the first time around – but that’s a different story.

The manager at my new job out-did me today. I walked up to him with a bunch of thin, raggedy, 1/8 inch wide, 10 to 14 inch long strips of paper, saying I wanted to make a diorama and use them for sheaves of wheat, for a nice autumnal thing. Or maybe make Blair Witch dolls, except we were past Halloween. Manager said, no, we make them now and sneak out at night and put them up along the lake walk, and freak out the little kids.

I like his style.

Many dragons were slain. Some remain. But in the meantime:

Food, glorious food. Easy-peasey. I apparently forgot how much I love to cook. I was nearly singing while I made this. Same thing happened when I made zucchini bread last week. Weird that I forgot, and weird that I get so happy. Weird.

I went out and took pictures on Sunday. I will restrain myself. You only get a few. (Go full screen; they make more – or less – sense that way.)






And yes, she’s amazing, but then take your grown-up non-AM radio ears and listen to the horns!

I got up and did things. I think the change of jobs has been a remarkably good thing.

But then we went to Walmart, where I ordered a canvas print. The photo place was slow, she said it would be done in a half-hour, we went wandering off to kill time, “Walk Like an Egyptian” was on the loudspeakers, nobody was around, I started doing like the song says, somebody came out of an aisle laughing at me.

I don’t think I did anything else particularly odd there, we got the print, we moved on. Driving home, we saw three bow-back chairs at the curb for sale, for $20. We parked the car, put the (non-Walmart) groceries away, put cash in my pocket, and walked back over there and got to the chairs literally seconds before this other person – maybe even just a second. I got all assertive and said, ‘Nope, sorry,” and paid the lady and we walked back carrying a chair and a half apiece. Now that they’re in my kitchen, I’m realizing that they look like Papa Bear’s chair – a ways past the average adult’s size. Don’t care. They’re solid, and I’ve been worrying about my kitchen chairs for years.

In other news; this last week, one scraggly stalk decided that there was time for a few more hollyhock blooms. Have a couple of pictures.



First up.

Seasonally appropriate shadows on my wall these mornings

More riffs on Sitting Zazen Octopus.

And an octopus.

These are weird little sketches, sort of. And all portrayed at an angle from how they should actually hang. At any rate, the way I like to work the most; from odd bits and pieces, assembled into what I guess Hume would call complex ideas.

Gotta go. Work!

(yes, I am reading Hume on my own time for fun. Because.)

This much shit in the course of a week is too psycho to be just random. (This of course makes my belief in astrology a corollary to “There must be a god, because somebody is certainly after me.”)

I don’t even remember all of it. My papers got lost at State, the cable that is attached to the handle that you turn to pull back the pins so the garage door opens snapped, the thread spindle on my sewing machine went FLYING – Okay, I need to take a tiny bit of responsibility on that one, because I saw the spool rattling around, but seriously, I was in the process of raising my foot off the go button and off it went flying. The thread didn’t go far, what with still being attached to the bobbin, but the “drive-in metal spool pin”, to use the professional words, went off on its own and dove underneath one of the many litter boxes that Katniss needs. Well, actually, she doesn’t “need” this one, since she only uses it every third new moon, or less. I only found my “spool pin” because I was moving the box to a new location under a table on the off-chance that it would please her Royal Buttness. Because cat. (Also, she is perfecting her skills of manipulation, but that’s probably good for another day.) My landline phone just quit.

But let’s look at it another way. The replacement papers made it to State, and I have health insurance again. My car is still running. I might finally get my income reported to the state and feds (don’t ask – peak passive-aggressive behavior on someone else’s part is involved, involving all parts of my getting paid). I enjoy one of my jobs tremendously. I got most of my plants in before the frost. Katniss answers to “Kit-Kit”, only because I reinforce that behavior with butter or milk, but still, it’s cool to see the excitement in that dear little furry face as she comes trotting up to me. And I ordered two new drive-in metal spool pins. Maybe I’ll try that whole twin needle thing. I also ordered a book – “Giordano Bruno and the Hermetic Tradition,” because. I also ordered cord to go with the pendants I’ve been making, in preparing to try to sell them. I suppose I should take a photo of them, along with the weird stuff I’ve been making.

And last but not least, the leaves will be off the trees soon, and I can quit feeling like that line in that book by that guy, about the Santa Ana winds.

Raymond Chandler. Here it is;

“There was a desert wind blowing that night. It was one of those hot dry Santa Ana’s that come down through the mountain passes and curl your hair and make your nerves jump and your skin itch. On nights like that every booze party ends in a fight. Meek little wives feel the edge of the carving knife and study their husbands’ necks. Anything can happen. You can even get a full glass of beer at a cocktail lounge.”

“Red Wind” (Opening paragraph)

The leaves make me feel like that. Full moon nights with the wind blowing and the air full of scratchy cast-off leaves. Maybe I should go to a cocktail lounge, and see what happens.

I thought this fall was going to be good, then it looked like it wouldn’t be, and I quit trying to be brave and spent a week taking Xanax and driving around with the top off the car and looking at the blue, blue sky and not looking at those damn leaves. And that seems to have done it; that, and the fact that we’re still running early-mid September weather, and a pile of stuff that might have happened didn’t.

And then Daughter signed my birthday card; “We are Groot.”

Take that, stupid world.


Saving summer.

So I’ll put things here.

A neighbor, who had both wild and domestic grapes growing on an arbor, died two years ago. Last year, I noticed a wild grape growing in the area allowed to run amok, and let it stay, as a memorial of sorts. It has grown up my window. I like it.

Shadows in the morning.


A different morning, with wind.


Our Katniss likes to go out in the garage and pretend she is a wild creature. And also poop. (dear whomever, even my cat has issues. I don’t know how I can bear it.) So we humor her, and let her out into the garage. This morning I saw this.




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